The Witness Series Bundle

by Rebecca Forster

  "Why is the truth so damned important to women?"

  Before Josie Baylor-Bates could give Matthew an answer he threw her facedown into the ocean, one hand on the back of her neck and waited for her to die.

  CHAPTER 47

  There in the cold dark sea, Josie Baylor-Bates was dying. She could feel Matthew's hands on her. She jerked. She flailed and when the life began to drain out of her, she floated and dreamed.

  Josie thought of the women she knew: Kristin Davis. Her own mother, Emily. Killers of children. Kristin with a knife; Emily more devious. She ripped out her daughter's heart.

  Hannah. Behind Josie's eyes, in the recess of her mind where hope lived, there was Hannah.

  Men were in her head, too. Archer. She loved Archer. Josie saw her father standing in a great light that seemed to blind her and beckon her at the same time. She loved her father, too. Matthew . . .

  Josie's heart was heavy; it took so long to beat. Her body was light: arms and legs floating outward as the current rocked her. Then everyone faded away: Emily, Archer, Josie's father, Hannah. Josie was sad because life was ending and she wasn't ready.

  Yet, in another instant the light was snuffed out and the pain of living returned as she was torn from the black, cold water. Rebirthed. Made to breathe— forced to breathe. How painful it all was. She gasped for air. Coughed up water, vomited the sea. Strong hands held her weak body up and Josie could think only one thing. Matthew loved her still. Matthew was saving her.

  With her last ounce of strength Josie reached for him. Forgiving him. But Matthew's hands weren't so wide and solid. They had never touched her with such urgency and care. This man carried her when the water wouldn't buoy her any longer. He passed her off to smaller hands that gripped her and delicate arms that held her as she rolled in the sand. Josie's body convulsed. Her chest was on fire. She thrashed about, desperate for salvation and finding it in a determined embrace. Josie's eyelids fluttered open. Above her was something darker than the night. It moved with the wind. Black hair. There was something shining brighter than the stars. Spring green eyes. Cradled in the crook of Hannah's arm, Josie's head lolled to the side. She was so tired. Her eyes closed. They opened and she saw through a fog. Feeling nothing. Wondering if she was dreaming. It couldn't be real, what she was seeing.

  Archer straddled Matthew McCreary. Josie heard the crack of a fist and smelled blood as it mingled with the scent of the sea. The thought that Matthew wouldn't look so nice on television moved through Josie's mind like a lazy wave. Matthew would show his real face to the public when Archer was finished and he would lose . . . everything. Babcock had been right, then. All men could be violent. Some men surprised you.

  She saw Babcock, didn't she? Uniforms. Paramedics? Police? Lights and sirens and Billy Zuni wet from head to toe, sitting beside Josie crying because he hadn't been able to find Grace. He couldn't save Grace the way he and Hannah had saved Susan O'Connel.

  Josie put her hand out. She wanted to tell him that no one could have saved Grace. But instead everything went black.

  CHAPTER 48

  "Are you okay?"

  Josie smiled as she hung up the towel, and then opened the bathroom door. Hannah was waiting, just as she had waited outside every room Josie had been in since that night on the beach.

  "I am. Thanks." Josie patted Hannah's arm as she passed.

  "The doctor said you'd be weak for a while," Hannah insisted and Josie laughed.

  "It's been four days. If I don't get moving now, I never will." Josie picked up her jacket. Hannah was there to help her put it on. "Is everyone here?"

  "Detective Babcock just came. He told Archer they found Kevin O'Connel beat up in a bar in San Diego. He was trying to get into Mexico. I guess he got what he deserved, didn't he?"

  Josie adjusted her shirt collar. A week ago that news would have thrilled her. Now she didn't want to think about anyone getting hurt—not even Kevin O'Connel. There had been too much anger and too much violence and too many secrets. It was time for all of it to end. Instead of answering, Josie turned toward Hannah.

  "How do I look?"

  "Like normal, Josie," Hannah answered.

  The moment was awkward and Josie wasn't exactly sure why until Hannah reached in her pocket. She held out a blue envelope, dirtied and crinkled, the handwriting nearly illegible. "I took this out of your wet clothes. I thought you might want it."

  "Grace's love letters to Matthew," Josie mused as she touched them; letters from a child to the man who took her virginity, the man who was her brother.

  "That's what it was all about, I guess. Keeping it secret. What they did when they were kids, I mean," Hannah said uneasily.

  "Yep, that's what it was all about. All those years, Grace never told a soul—not even Dr. Wharton. And she never would have tried to tell me if Matthew hadn't given her up in court."

  "Do you think he meant to?" Hannah asked.

  Josie shook her head. "I don't think he knew what to do when the prosecutor put him on the stand. He was desperate, Hannah, and desperate people do bad things. His life would be over if people found out about the incest."

  "What I don't understand is why Grace told him about pushing Michelle. Wouldn't it have been better if she just stuck to the story that she was trying to stop her?" Hannah asked.

  Josie paused. She pulled her lips tight. What could she tell Hannah? Certainly the girl was sophisticated, understanding abuse in all its forms, but Josie had promised to give her a different life. Sharing the sordid things she knew about Matthew McCreary wasn't right.

  "It's enough that she did." Josie turned toward the mirror, feigning interest in her hair, hoping that statement was enough to satisfy Hannah.

  Grace had killed and confessed because she thought her brother loved her. Matthew betrayed his sister because he loved himself more. Michelle McCreary wanted a handmaiden but turned Grace out and was going to expose Matthew's perversion when their sin was discovered.

  When Archer found out about the divorce filing Grace knew there would be trouble. It was possible Michelle had cited incest as cause of action so Grace saw no alternative but to tell Matthew everything. Grace assured him that Josie would win without knowing the truth. All would be well if they just stuck together. They would be together again. A team. A couple. Lovers?

  But Matthew was appalled by what Grace had done; he was frightened of her. He wanted her gone but he was a coward. So Matthew cried to Helen Crane to save him. Helen called the prosecutor, told her about Grace's confession and was delighted when P.J. followed the script. There was no doubt Matthew wouldn't perjure himself when forced to testify. If Grace tried to defend herself she would seem mad, hysterical, a paranoid liar, a cold-blooded killer. It was a perfect plan. Matthew would be a tragic soul, a victim of a mentally unstable sister. Grace would be incarcerated and forgotten.

  Josie leaned closer to the mirror and checked a fading bruise on her forehead. She had to admit, it was a brilliant way to use the system. But Helen didn't count on Grace McCreary's sense of survival. When Grace took off with the incriminating letters, understanding that Matthew was willing to sacrifice her to save himself, Matthew knew she had to be stopped. He took a page from Grace's own game plan. But Grace had killed Michelle in a fit of passion, some might say self-defense. Matthew killed with a calculation that still made Josie shudder.

  "That was stupid of Grace to tell Matthew in the first place, wasn't it? Well, wasn't it, Josie?" Hannah insisted.

  Josie started. She had almost forgotten Hannah was in the room. She looked over her shoulder and saw that the girl was not going to be put off.

  "No, Hannah, it wasn't." Josie faced her full on. "Grace wanted Matthew to know that she loved him more than anything, even more than she loved Michelle. Grace was so sick, Hannah. I don't think she could help herself."

  Josie put Grace's love letters on her dresser. She would turn them over to the district attorney to use in Matthew's prosecu
tion. Her fingers lingered on them but she felt nothing: not regret or satisfaction for bringing Matthew to justice. Funny thing was it never should have come to this. Babcock confirmed that Michelle McCreary was going to see Helen Crane the night she died. If she had given her oldest, dearest friend those letters Helen would probably have killed Michelle herself. Grace never would have had to make a choice. Grace would still be alive.

  "Everyone went to the wrong person for help on this one," Josie mused, surprised to hear she had spoken aloud.

  "Except Grace. You were the right person to help her."

  "No, Hannah, I wasn't but I should have been," Josie answered. "If Grace had told me everything I would have had options. The one thing I'm sure of is that what she did wasn't premeditated. Grace was just caught between two people she loved and when she had to choose who to protect, Matthew won." Josie sighed and buttoned her jacket. "The only regret I have is that Helen Crane can't be prosecuted for something. That woman is dangerous— pretending to be Michelle's friend, using Grace, manipulating Matthew."

  "Don't feel sorry for him," Hannah scoffed. "He wanted to be manipulated. That way he didn't have to take responsibility for anything."

  "Pretty smart, Hannah," Josie agreed sadly.

  "You ready, Jo?" Archer poked his head through the door and Josie was grateful for the reprieve. She didn't want to discuss Matthew. She didn't want to remember that at one time she had loved him.

  "Are the flowers here?" she asked.

  "Got 'em."

  "Then let's do it." Josie put out her hand for Hannah. When the girl took it, Josie held on tight. There was one more piece of unfinished business. "I haven't thanked you for calling Archer that night. I wouldn't be here if you hadn't been watching the house."

  "Maybe if you'd let me stay home none of this would have happened. I would have been a witness."

  "Do you really think Matthew would be afraid of you?"

  "Yes," she said without hesitation.

  Josie didn't argue. Matthew McCreary had probably been afraid his whole life and never admitted it. Now he was in jail and Josie's friends were waiting. She greeted everyone in turn, and then led them down to the shore.

  They trudged silently across the sand lost in their own thoughts. Babcock looking so decent decked out as always in a jacket and tie. Archer looked like Archer. Black sweatpants, bright white sweatshirt with a hood. His hand was in his pocket, where Josie knew he fingered the beads of his rosary. Billy Zuni in his shorts and T-shirt had taken charge of Max and carried the flowers. Hannah walked beside him, a bond between them after what had happened in Susan O'Connel's apartment. Her dress was diaphanous. She had found a wool shawl embroidered with bright flowers from Josie's closet and draped it over her shoulders. Her hair was braided down her back. Three gold earrings glittered in each ear. Faye pulled up the rear, struggling a bit in the sand because of her size but determined to make it to the water's edge under her own speed. Tim Douglas had been invited but he had declined. Josie had no doubt he was grieving in his own way.

  As they walked Josie searched for a sign that there was a heaven for Grace. If there was such a place, the secret was well guarded. A shaft of glimmering light didn't pierce the flat gray sky; Josie heard the cry of a single gull but no angelic voices. The beach was all but deserted. Grace didn't rise from the dead.

  "Here," Josie said when they arrived at the place where Grace McCreary was killed. Josie looked out to sea, and then turned around.

  "Billy?"

  Billy handed off Max-the-Dog to Hannah and stepped forward. He walked into the sea, into the lap of the tide that brushed at the shore and reached gently for the flowers he placed in the water. Hannah was next. She put Grace's cherished pictures in the sea. She wanted to rip Matthew's image from the family photo but Josie stopped her. Matthew was a little boy in that picture. The family was happy. Hannah agreed and now the hem of her dress touched the water as the photographs were set adrift. No one spoke but each of them hoped these small offerings would find Grace and give her comfort.

  "I guess that's it," Archer muttered.

  Every one turned away except Josie. Alone and thoughtful she stood at attention. After what seemed like an eternity she took Grace's ring out of her pocket. Lowering her eyes, she looked at it. Turned it. Admired it. Understood this symbol of love and guilt. Grace had felt married to Matthew the minute he put their mother's emerald on her finger. In poor Grace's sick mind, she belonged to her brother body and soul.

  Raising her face Josie breathed in the ocean air. Would Grace want the emerald with her or would it be a reminder of the burden she bore in life? Josie's lips twitched. She knew the answer. Little lost girls clung to rings and hula girl plates and red lacquer stools as proof that they were once loved. Josie knew none of it was proof and nothing was that magical. Still, on the off chance she was wrong Josie would return the ring to its owner. She raised her fist but before she could throw the ring into the sea she heard:

  "Are you sure you want to do that?"

  Josie lowered her arm and turned her head. Babcock was standing beside her, looking at her the way he had so long ago on the balcony of Matthew's home. His amber eyes made no judgments.

  "I think so. I think it's what Grace would want." Josie said.

  "She tried to do the right thing in the end even if it ruined her brother. That was a huge sacrifice," Babcock noted.

  "Agreed," Josie answered, unsure of where he was going.

  "You know, Mrs. O'Connell and Ms. McCreary were very much alike. They both stood up to men who controlled and hurt them. Mrs. O'Connel is still alive but, with her husband in prison, there won't be any wages to collect for her." Babcock put his hands behind his back, standing at ease. When Josie didn't get the point he was blunt. "That ring is worth quite a bit of money, you know. It's an exquisite stone."

  "Legally this ring belongs to Matthew McCreary," Josie reminded him.

  "Very true, although he hadn't seen your client since she left court that last day. For all he knows, the ring is out there, on his sister's finger." Babcock raised his chin toward the water. "Otherwise, why would you throw it into the ocean? Why wouldn't you give it back to him?"

  "Point well taken, Babcock," Josie laughed softly and looked at the ring again. "Do you think it's enough to buy a house in Wisconsin?"

  "I believe it might be a good down payment," Babcock answered.

  "I wonder what Grace would think of that?"

  "I think Ms. McCreary would be delighted."

  "It's a shame, isn't it, Babcock?" Josie cut her eyes back to the horizon as she put the ring safely away. "One of those women is dead, the other came close to it, and the men who hurt them will find lawyers and make excuses and maybe get out and live long lives."

  "A good defense is their right, Ms. Bates," Babcock noted.

  "No, Babcock. It is their privilege." Josie corrected him as they walked away from the water's edge. "Not exactly justice, is it?"

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  EXPERT WITNESS

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  Copyright © Rebecca Forster, 2011

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  The e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use, then you should return to your bookseller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Though certain elements of this novel were suggested by actual events, it is a work of fiction. All characters, whether central or peripheral, are purely produc
ts of the author’s imagination, as are their actions, motivations, thoughts, and conversations, and neither the characters nor the situations were invented for them are intended to depict real people.

  For Bruce & Carole Raterink

  Many thanks to Jenny Jensen for keeping this story on track, and to friends with good eyes: Nancy McClain, Julie Mandarino, and Jay Freed. Your help, cheerleading and friendship is so greatly appreciated.

  CHAPTER 1

  Day 1

  An Outbuilding in the California Mountains

  He touched her breast.

  He hadn't meant to. Not that way. Not gently, as if there was affection between them. Not as if there was suddenly sympathy for her, or second thoughts about the situation. To touch her so tenderly – a fluttering of the fingers, a sweep of his palm - was not in the plan and that, quite simply, was why he was surprised. But he really couldn't find fault with himself. There must have been something about the fall of the light or the turn of her body that made him do such a thing.

  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes not wanting to be distracted by her breasts or her face or her long, long legs. For someone like him, it would not be unheard of to be moved by the frail, failing light filtering through the cracks in the mortar, pushing through the hole high in the wall. This was a desperately beautiful light, heroically shining as the dark crept up to capture it, overcome it, extinguish it.

  There were smells, too. They were assaultive, musty smells that reminded him of a woman after sex. Then there were the scents of moist dirt and decaying leaves mixed with those of fresh pine and clean air. There was the smell of her: indefinable, erotic, unique.

  Breathing deep, turning his blind eyes upward, fighting the urge to open them, he acknowledged the absence of sound. The sounds of civilization were white noise to him, but in this remote place his heart raced at the thump of a falling pinecone, the shifting of the air, the breathing and twitching of unseen animals, the flight of bugs and birds.